The class that Brendon has really been looking forward to is Music.

He's never really had the dedication to stick to playing one instrument, and so he can play many - just not very well. He knows the basics, he just never gets interested enough to take them further. Still, in his old school, Music was the only class he really excelled in, and he hopes that won't change now.

Once again, he and Spencer sit at desks next to one another, close to the front of the classroom. Brendon is thankful that some people from his other classes aren't in this one; Timothy and his friends, namely, don't seem to be taking the subject. The class is smaller and quieter, with people who Brendon can see himself hanging around with someday.

The teacher strolls in just as there's a general lull in conversation amongst the students. She's a thin, middle-aged woman, with a pointed chin and a set of stern, grey eyes. She's a far cry from the weed-smoking, approachable man that taught the subject in Brendon's old school, and he begins to realise that perhaps this won't be his favourite class, after all.

"You," she says, sharply, interrupting his thoughts. He looks up from his desk to find that she's staring - no, glaring - at him, her bony arms folded tightly over her flat chest. "You're the new boy, I take it?"

"Yes, Miss."

"It's not a very good start if you're not paying attention, is it?" she snaps, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Normally, I'd make you take a test before entering my class, but I decided to be kind and let you in. So, I'd like it very much if you could actually listen."

Brendon is ninety-nine percent sure that there had been nothing to actually listen to, but he's not about to say it. Instead, he resists rolling his eyes, having had this conversation far more times than he'd like to count. "Sorry, Miss, but I have a condition called ADHD, short for attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, which means that I --"

"I'm not sure I care," she cuts through him, unfolding her arms and instead putting her hands on her hips. "All that I care about is you attending and contributing well. If you don't do as you should, I don't want you here. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Miss," Brendon mumbles, sinking lower in his seat. Most people, when faced with an explanation as to his distraction, treat him sympathetically, even condescendingly. It seems, however, that this teacher - Mrs. Harris, he remembers from his timetable - isn't about to treat him any differently to anybody else. It's a little disconcerting.

"Right. Now that we're all paying attention, I'll explain --"

She trails off, however, as the classroom door opens with a slam, and a student slouches in. It's Ryan Ross - the strange boy that Spencer had warned Brendon about - and he doesn't look at anybody when he comes in, instead heading straight to his desk in the corner of the room, and sitting down heavily at it.

The teacher, Brendon suddenly notices, looks uncertain as to whether or not she should say anything. It make Brendon a little indignant; if it was him who had strolled in late, he feels sure he'd have been shouted at, at the very least. Mrs. Harris clears her throat, and straightens to her full, rather unimpressive, height.

"Ryan?" she attempts, voice strangely tender and hesitant. Ryan looks up from the corner, looking decidedly uninterested. "Do you care to explain why you're late?"

"Not really," he replies, and looks back down at his hands.

Mrs. Harris struggles with herself for a moment, but then just sighs and gives in. To the rest of the class, she looks stern once more, and clears her throat again. "As I was saying, I'd like to assign you all a project for the coming weeks. I'm going to partner you all together and I wish you for to create a piece of music for me. It sounds simple, but I want real music. Use whatever instruments you want, or can, but I want something original. That can be your homework project for the next few weeks, whilst we focus upon composition in class. I'll be grading you on the piece, too, once you perform it to the class - so I want your very best, with lots of time put into it."

Brendon and Spencer immediately share a look, silently exchanging that they want to be partnered together. To Brendon's horror, however, Mrs. Harris seems to notice this, and she smiles. "Oh, no, no, don't start looking towards your friends. I said that I'm going to partner you, didn't I?"

There's a collective groan across the class, but the woman merely smiles even wider. She begins to pair people up, seemingly at random, and Brendon crosses his fingers and hopes to for Spencer. However, he soon hears the words, "Spencer and Jon, you two can work together", and winces.

Spencer looks stunned by the pairing, but not exactly annoyed. Brendon, on the other hand, is definitely worried. He really, really doesn't want to have to mix with anybody else, and he can't imagine that anybody wants to be paired with him. Mrs. Harris turns to him, with a large smile that makes Brendon's skin crawl. "Brendon, you can work with Ryan. I trust your condition won't stop you making a song, will it? I know it's probably going to be very difficult."

There's a gasp that sweeps across the class, and silence falls. Brendon can feel himself paling, and he's so surprised that he doesn't even have the energy to get offended at her patronising his condition so much. Then, the muttering begins, and he can feel the burn of everybody's eyes upon him. Spencer's eyes are wide, and he shakes his head, looking worried. Brendon gazes at him, hoping that somehow Spencer will be able to sort things out, but his friend merely shakes his head and looks faintly sick.

Oh, great, Brendon thinks, to himself. He's going to be knifed on his second day of school.

"O-okay, then," he manages to say to the smug teacher, and she nods, satisfied.

"Everybody move around so that you're sitting next to your partners, then. You can have this lesson to discuss things and then we shall resume to our normal seats tomorrow, leaving you to work on it at home and in your free time."

The class stands up and casts around for their partners, some moving reluctantly towards each other, others instantly swapping ideas. Brendon slowly stands up, feeling a strange, nervous twisting in his stomach, and glances over at Ryan. Ryan is staring at him, expressionlessly, and has made no attempt at moving. There's a free desk by his side, though, and so Brendon, heaving a great sigh, makes his way over to it and settles tentatively at it. Across the room, Jon slides into Brendon's desk, smiling warmly at a grinning Spencer. Everybody begins to plan, but Brendon has no idea what to do.

Nobody talks to him. That's what Spencer had said. The last boy who'd attempted conversation had nearly been killed. So what's he supposed to do? Before he knows what he's doing, as often happens when he's nervous, he blurts out, "I can play guitar and bass and a bit of the drums, and I really like to sing, but I'm not sure I'd be any good in front of an entire class because I've never done it before, but then again, there's a first time for everything, isn't there? I might be bad but I don't think too many people would sing so it might get us marks for originality, or something, unless I'm really terrible, because then we'd probably just --"

"You can sing if you want," Ryan says, voice a little hoarse, probably from lack of use. Brendon blinks, instantly falling silent. He'd imagined - from what people had said - some kind of menacing, dark voice that would make his skin turn cold. But it had been a soft, almost gentle, without any inflection of emotion.

"Oh. Uh. Okay, then, I probably will. I guess it depends on what other things we use, because --"

"Yeah," Ryan agrees, looking thoroughly bored. He gazes down at his desk, playing with the corner of a journal he'd been writing in, and it seems the conversation is over already. Brendon clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and looks away from his partner, feeling awkward. He's overjoyed that he's managed to actually talk to Ryan, as it's so unheard of, but he doesn't know if he could even count it as a conversation. It had been more him rambling, and Ryan telling him subtly to shut up.

The rest of the lesson slips away, thankfully quickly, in silence. Before long, Mrs. Harris is dismissing them and telling them to get to work on their composition as soon as possible. Brendon turns to Ryan to try and make some arrangement, but Ryan's already heading out of the door without looking back. Brendon stares after him, mouth slightly open, before Spencer walks to his side and follows his gaze. "You," he says, in a sad voice, "have no chance."

*

At the end of the day, Brendon and Spencer lean against the school gates, deep in a fast, worried conversation. Brendon is just about hyperventilating now, after having spent the day being warned against Ryan and told of all the danger he's now in by having to work with him. He's heard all the horror stories of the nearly-knifed boy, the people Ryan has hit because they so much as looked at him the wrong way, and his strange, rumour-bound parents. He's pretty much wanting to drop out of school to avoid getting caught up in it all. He'd usually give Ryan the benefit of the doubt, but Spencer's way too firm in his convictions to make him doubt them.

"--and then there was this one time, in 9th grade, where his parents had to come into school because he'd told a teacher to fuck herself. I got to see them when I was walking between classes and they were so weird. His dad was really tall and silent and disapproving, and his mum had this really bleached blonde hair, and she was really thin and seemed like she had probably been pretty when younger. She didn't stop talking, at all."

"They don't sound too weird," Brendon argues, weakly.

"No, there was definitely something weird about them," Spencer disagrees, with a thoughtful frown. "They were awkward and strained. I can't explain it."

"Do you think I can go to Mrs. Harris and ask to change partners?" Brendon asks, desperately. "Then again, I know I won't be able to. She hates me already and I don't even know why. Also, if she said yes then Ryan would find out I'd ask to move and he'd probably flip out and kill me or something. Fuck. What do I do? I'm doomed. I'm actually, completely doomed."

"Why are you doomed?" comes a curious voice, and they both turn to find Jon standing next to them, looking concerned.

"Ryan Ross," Spencer says, in a meaningful voice, and Jon winces.

"Oh, yeah, you're his music partner, aren't you? You're. Hm. Well, yeah, you're doomed, I'm afraid."

Brendon bites his lip. He had been half-hoping that Spencer had just been prone to exaggerate things, but he believes Jon. "Oh, God. What am I going to do? I'm actually going to die."

"It's not that bad," Jon tries to reassure him, but he doesn't look too certain. He glances at Spencer, nervously. "Is it?"

"No," Spencer says, but he, too, sounds rather doubtful.

"Oh, great," Brendon sighs, and runs a tired hand across his face. As he withdraws it, however, his eyes glance at his watch and he groans. "I've got to get home. I don't want, uh, my Mom to worry about me."

Spencer nods. "Yeah, I should probably --"

"Do you want to come back to mine?" Jon interrupts, looking a little nervous. Spencer blinks, and stares at him as though he's mad, his cheeks slowly going pink. "I mean. Uh. You know, for the project. I thought we could start work on it now."

"Yeah, that sounds good," Spencer replies, breaking out into a nervous, but happy, smile. He turns to Brendon, and Brendon can't help but smirk at the excited expression on his friend's face. "I'll see you later, then."

"Bye," Brendon says, with a wave as he turns to go, and Jon bids him goodbye as the two walk off in the other direction. Brendon takes no more than ten steps in the direction of his house before somebody calls "Brendon!", causing him to turn and see what Spencer wants.

It is, however, not Spencer.

"Uh. Ryan! H-hello. How are you? I was just going home, actually, so we'll have to, erm, talk tomorrow because my Mom is expecting me to be --"

"Are you busy tonight?" Ryan asks, coming to a halt in front of Brendon.

Brendon's eyes go wide. Why would Ryan, the knife-wielding psycho, want to know? He tries to think up a thousand excuses - I have to go to the dentist, I'm going to a party, I'm running away to become a nun - but all that comes out is, "No, I'm not doing anything."

Ryan surveys him, carefully, but there's still no sign of any particular emotion in his face or voice. "We should start to work on our music project. I want a good grade."

"Uh. Yeah. Um, okay then. Did you want to come to mine tonight sometime and work on it? My mom will be in but she won't mind, I mean it's not like we'll be doing anything naughty or anything, and she'll be pleased that I'm bringing someone home because she's always going on about me getting more friends."

"It's just a project," Ryan replies, coolly, causing Brendon to flush.

"No. I know. I just. Uh. She won't know, you know?"

"No, actually," Ryan replies, sounding bored. "Where do you live?"

Brendon hastily gives him directions, a sinking feeling beginning inside at the thought of Ryan coming round to his house. His mom is going to treat him like Brendon's best friend, he just knows it, and he has no idea how Ryan will react to that. He's never met anybody so rude in his life, but he's not about to question it - he's seen the knife, and damn, it looks sharp.

"I'll be there at six then," Ryan tells him, and then turns on his heel and walks off in the other direction. Brendon stares after him, a little shocked by the fact that he just agreed to let a potential murderer into his house, and then sees Timothy coming out of the school gates, surrounded by friends.

Not wanting to be called a fag again, he quickly makes his way home, full of trepidation and quite a bit of fear about what might happen once the clock hits six.